Fate
by thoroughlymodernJulie
Summary: Re-write for the end of Blake Edwards's The Tamarind Seed. For Cátia.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

Sexual situations, please read responsibly. Enjoy!

* * *

The sad expression that was on Judith's face at this moment neither worried nor concerned Feodor. He stroked her face gently as tears began to slowly trickle down her soft cheeks. Normally he would reprimand her for crying when they were finally together again in Canada, but he was man enough to know that this wonderful woman had borne the weight of the world on her shoulders for the past five years and never truly had any way to get it out. For everything she'd done for him, he owed her this, at least. Just to be there, to love her, to understand her. To tell her that somehow, fate would work everything out.

Somehow, though Judith was normally the most shut-up and private woman he'd ever met, he'd learned how sensitive she was, and when her sensitive mind was correctly manipulated, her heart would come pouring out like a dam bursting free. It was her Achilles heel and the exact key he needed to her heart.

Feodor had never truly felt compelled to let the woman do the controlling, particularly amongst the intimate affairs of a relationship, and Judith was the first woman he'd ever felt deserved his patience and his gentleness. Feodor had never before taken no for an answer, but as deep and as burdened as the girl was, she was also difficult. She hadn't had any trouble making things clear that a budding romance between them would occur when she was ready for it. And now, here they were. And in all honesty, he owed her his very life.

"Dushinka, what is the matter? Will you please tell me? It does you no good to bottle everything." He'd pulled Judith into his lap and was stroking her head, which was resting on his shoulder.

Judith stared at the print of his cotton shirt dully, wondering why she had to be so profoundly sad during one of the best times of her life—she was in Feodor Sverdlov's arms, something she hadn't been counting on when the escape plan out of Europe was made. She'd said she didn't want it, but it was a lie. She'd told Feodor once that he had the abilities to lie like a trouper, and found it ironic that her life had turned into a host of suspense, lies, hurt, and uncertainty. And now it just seemed to all fade away. Though it was a blessing in one way, it was a curse in another. Life just wasn't meant to work out to perfection, was it?

She finally whispered, "For someone who's had as much heartbreak and trial as I, it seems so wrong that my world could suddenly become so perfect. I've been hurt so much, and now I have you, and you do nothing _but_ love me and show me tenderness and kindness and adoration. I don't know what to make of it."

Feodor placed a tender kiss to her soft hair and responded, "Then don't make anything of it. Though we are in exile together, the world is not perfect, so stop worrying that conscience of yours that you insist every human has." He tilted her chin upwards so he could gaze in her eyes. "Alright?"

Judith held his deep gaze. The color of his eyes reminded her strikingly of the little tamarind seed she kept in her room on the dresser. She never had asked him how he'd obtained it. But she finally, slowly nodded her head in answer to his query. "Alright, Feodor. Your level of reasoning is quite impressive today."

Wiping away the tear streaks on her face, Feodor joked, "I thought it always was. And it's nice to see you give in without a fight."

Sitting up, Judith immediately contradicted, "If you're to live in the same cottage with me, don't get used to it."

Feodor's eyes were twinkling. "After last night? Dushinka, after last night, I'm not so sure you're speaking with as much conviction as you once did."

Judith sighed, taking his hand in hers and rubbing it, enjoying the warmth of his skin beneath hers. Maybe she _was _jumping the gun; she'd arrived only yesterday, after all. Of course they'd had an argument, and one thing had led to another. _Yesterday_…

* * *

The breeze was blowing, and Judith loved the feel of Feodor's fingers on her cheek, but when she realized that he was giving a now faded scar attention, she pushed his hand away with a small smile, her somewhat sad eyes telling him to forget everything that had happened. It was all behind them and she in no way held him responsible for what fate had deemed appropriate to bring upon her. After all, the way it had turned out, Russian intelligence now assumed Feodor to be dead. As long as he didn't show his face to the wrong people, he was safe for the rest of his life.

The rest of his life had been weighing on his mind, as Judith soon found out after being given a grand tour of the quaint, modest little cottage they would share together. He'd hesitated before starting, instantly putting Judith on the alert. She was never quite sure what to expect from this persistent Russian.

"Judith, I would like to talk. I think it's important that we talk about something."

They'd been standing in the bedroom at the time, and Judith, who was staring absently out the large windows at the mountains that stood before them, turned sharply at the tone of his voice. Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, she sighed. "Feodor, what is tormenting you now? Because I truly don't know if I can give you what you want."

As always, he got straight to the point. "Marry me, Judith. Please."

Judith stumbled momentarily over her words, but rage and confusion instantly took the forefront. "Fe—Feodor! You're married! How could you ask me to do such a thing? I've already been Richard Paterson's plaything and I will not subject myself again to the shame and humiliation and embarrassment of being the love interest—let alone wife!—to a man who is still legally married! No! I will not hear of it!"

Feodor instantly went to her and cupped her face in his hands. He'd been expecting this. "My dear Judith, I can assure you that I have not impregnated my wife, so that should be of no worry to you. I don't think I've slept with her since our third year of marriage. And—don't forget—Russia believes me to be dead. Both Desa and I are free to do as we like—we are no longer bound together."

There was a fire in Judith's eyes that would not be easily quenched. "You're missing the point! The whole of Russia may think you're dead, but you're still alive, so that marriage still formally exists between you and Desa whether you like it or not! I'm sorry, Feodor, but unless something can be done, my answer is no."

Feodor half growled, "You are the most difficult woman I've ever met—"

"So you've said." Judith's eyes were now glassing over into an icy blue fire, enraged expression still upon her pretty face.

"—but I don't care. All that matters to me is that you realize how painful it is for me to live without you."

Judith nearly broke down then and there, for the intensity and the softness and the sincerity of his voice was overpowering. But somewhere in her head, her collected self still reigned, and she gently put a hand to his lips, saying firmly once again, "No."

Feodor had to stop himself from shaking his head in exasperation. To cover and quell it, he brushed Judith's hair behind her ears and bent down to administer a kiss that was at first met with resolute rigidity from her and then began to melt into willingness as she became lost in it—Feodor remembered the time she'd told him that once she started, she couldn't stop, and was pleased at how well he could take advantage of that when she was willing to let him.

He murmured softly, "How I've missed you, Judith," as she draped her arms around his neck and pulled him down onto the bed with her.

Judith groaned as his hands found their way under her shirt and began to massage her back. With some slight struggle, she managed to lift her shirt over her head and toss it carelessly to the floor beside her. "Is it really me you've missed, or just my body?"

Feodor was kneeling behind her as she sat on her knees, rubbing her shoulders now. As his hands went further down her back, he unclasped her bra, then leaning around to kiss the hollow of her neck, said, "You're lucky I know you're teasing, and you're lucky I love you. Never play games with Russians—just this one, and only in bed."

"Mm, I love you too." Judith's eyes were closed in complete rapture; she was letting herself fall into the world of pure feeling and emotions. Every light touch of his skin against hers made it tingle, and her body flushed with a rush of heat as she twisted around and pushed him down and began with a furious progression of kisses from his groin to his mouth, pulling away his pants and shirt as she moved upward.

With her mouth on his, Feodor let her tongue find his and let her do as she pleased. She worked her tongue with his as he put his hands to her breasts to fondle them, then as she gave small gasps at his touch, he led his hands down her sides, tracing every curve of her body with his broad hands. When he reached her hips, he undid the waistband and slipped his fingers down the sides, removing the clothing. When he accidently brushed the small of her back as he began to draw his arms softly around her to hug her every curve to his body, she gave a violent shudder and sat back on her knees, resting on his firm stomach, and shoved his arms away. "Love me, don't torture me," she said imploringly, staring into his eyes.

Feodor stared into Judith's eyes, which where a midnight blue, and that was his undoing as he took her face in his hands and kissed her up the side of her arm, to her neck, and to her lips as she drew slowly lower into his firm and loving embrace. He could see that she was more than aroused, for he saw it in the glow of her face, the suppleness of her body, and her erect nipples; he felt the excessive and sticky warmth from her body spreading over his torso as she shifted to lie on his chest. And he could most definitely feel a throbbing in his groin and was certain that she could feel it too. She rested her head up against his shoulder and sighed as he stroked her hair. Her body was quivering with desire and Feodor knew that both of them would be lost of self-control in another moment.

He dared push that control beyond no return as he gently rolled her soft body off his and next to him, then shoved himself up with his elbows to lean over her, then he dipped his head down to bury his face in the firm softness of her breasts, kissing the space between them and giving small, loving licks that caused her to arch her back up against him and another flush of warmth to creep over her body. She was fighting off spasms of desire, which spoke the very least for what he was feeling.

Now being driven by a force beyond his own conscious mind, he knelt over Judith's perspiring body and drove himself into her body as she willingly spread her legs for him and drove himself rhythmically with her, her hips swaying seductively as he bent down to kiss the inside of her thighs. Upon that contact, Judith whimpered, quickly locking her legs around his waist and clawing her way upwards to take his face in her possession to kiss him, madly nuzzling and sucking at his lips, neck, nose, and tongue.

"Oh, God, Judith…" Feodor whispered into her ear as her pelvis seemed to lurch into his with a force that brought on a powerful, warm release from her body to mingle with his.

Dizzy with desire and pleasure, flushed with heat, Judith bit down on his sweaty shoulder, tasting the salt on his skin, and not an instant after her own rare release, his came swiftly, satisfying her with an odd sense of peace as his body filled hers. Oh, how she loved him. Spent and tired, Judith drew a hazy-eyed and happily dazed Feodor close to her breast, where they slept the remainder of the evening and night in a canopy of calm.

* * *

Feodor gently pushed Judith to her feet, and rose with her. "Come, Dushinka. We're going to go for a short walk. You need to clear your mind."

Judith was in no mood to object. She nodded in consent.

The short walk turned into a quiet, but colorful trek of several hours, something that Judith found herself grateful for, then realized as Feodor took her hand in his as they stood over a beautiful expanse of Canadian land and kissed it with a gentle and knowing smile, that he'd done this on purpose to distract her mind more than she'd intended to do herself.

She sighed with a conceding smile. "You're too good to me, Feodor Sverdlov."

The entire walk back to their cottage, Feodor said nothing to Judith in response to her conclusive statement. But as they finally went into the living room to stir the fire and share a bottle of wine, he said simply, "Yes."

Judith looked over to him, confusedly asking, "What, darling?"

He thumped his fist on the arm of the couch. "Yes, I am too good to you. I have no right to be denied of marriage to you; no right to be denied a family, a home, with you." He quickly moved closer to Judith, stroked her face tenderly, kissed her, then murmured, "Judith, I swear by God that we _will_ get married. I will see to it that my marriage is set aside, ended, whatever it takes. I don't know how, but I will do it. I _love _you, Judith Farrow."

Judith noted wryly to herself that she seemed particularly prone to tears lately – as if being with Feodor had finally allowed her to let her emotions lose the way they needed to be in order for her to deal with her past and move on towards the future. She said softly, huskily, "Oh, Feodor, I know you will. You're as good as your word and you always have been, no matter how unruly or unmoral."

At her statement, Feodor smiled coyly and drew her into his arms and began to nuzzle her soft, dirty blond hair. When she whispered, "I'm cold, Feodor," he pulled her to the floor by the fireside and let her cradle up against him, the heat of his body and the warmth of the growing fire a sure promise to warm her quickly. As she turned her head to look up at him and kiss him, he noticed that the reflection of the fire's flames in her eyes merely mirrored the fire that she had once held in her eyes for him: contempt. There was nothing there now but a liquid heat; the heat and embers of a passionate love.

Oh, fate was wonderful to him. She was his, no matter how much she would ever rail and argue with him. She was his. It was fate. Their fate was sealed. Together.

* * *

Ende


End file.
